at Home:
in city winter
mint tea cools
beside cracked windows;
No one is coming to me tonight.

I dream
(figuratively)
of her and I
living with no interruptions,
no static.

 I dream
(literally)
of jumping out of an aeroplane
landing on my feet with no parachute,
no reservation.

out Elsewhere:
I hear the
frail, Korean boutique owner
closing down for the night —
locking down the flowers.

 I sense the
two homeless lovers
inching closer together —
above a god-forsaken heating grate.

I feel the
clenched fist of a worried mother
wondering where her son has gone —
launching a clunky prayer hoping it’s somewhere warm at least.

The lot of us,
together,
would make a poetic group at a party…
Yes,
yes —
I can almost hear the clink of the ice
on the edges of the glass

in between
broken stories
& tell-all smiles.